Armageddon
by WatermelonStar
Summary: Welcome to hell.
1. Chapter 1

**June 17, 2025  
London**

"DAMN YOU TO HELL, YOU BASTARD!"

Screaming erupted from every direction as they fought for their lives. Blood trickled into the storm drains and limbs lay strewn about. Calmly strutting through the chaos, the man slashed his weapon to and fro, creating a pathway. The sword was heavy; lifting it would be a struggle, a war in itself. Ahead of him, Aeron was defending himself against a young girl. She was viciously snatching at him with a long, jagged knife, reaching for his throat. Madly, she screeched once more, "Damn you! You BASTARD!"

The man stepped forth and demanded, "Rose, move."

Still swinging her knife, Rose cried, "No, James! He is mine...fuck off..."

Rose was panting and winded, her reactions were slowing. Aeron leaned forward and cut a deep path down her face with his shorted sword.

"You son of a..."

"Rose."

Standing tall, James whipped in front of Rose and began dueling the ever-elusive Aeron. They battled, blood seeping from each wound inflicted. The scene around them dulled away and in the black of their lives, this was do or die. A war fought without hope and too many sides to count, never enough allies. James was not built for panic, but it was creeping up his legs, filling his bloodstream. Talking, that would surely help.

"Aeron, you're gonna die today," James flashed a demonic smile.

Aeron stumbled over a body and James stabbed at him to no avail. "In your wildest dreams, buddy."

Unfazed, James continued his banter, "Five years and you still haven't learned that I will always win?"

"Is Harry Potter proud of his son? Proud of you five?" Aeron jeered.

"Don't talk about Harry Potter!" James bellowed.

Strength renewed, James feinted and before Aeron could open his mouth to reply, James cleanly chopped his head off. Lobbing to the ground, the head rolled, its eyes frozen in vicious certainty.

As in the days of old, James wiped his sword with the clothing of his victim. Turning to face the burning, the blood, and the victory, James catcalled and out of the destruction came four figures. Their chests rose and fell with their labored breathing. The four cohorts stopped in front of James.

"Aeron is dead! Victory is ours today."

**September 1, 2021  
Platform 9 3/4 **

James frowned as his father insisted on tousling his hair. Ducking so that no one would see the sappy moment, James reappeared next to his mother. "Bye, Mum," James said brightly. "Bye, Dad."

Harry tried to hide the welling emotions as he coughed, "Goodbye, son."

"Bye, my James," Ginny sniffled.

He didn't particularly care for the goodbye scenario he was a part of each September. James was surprised that is mother didn't burst into tears and bumble on about him being 'all grown up.' He was a man now, in his seventh year at Hogwarts, and such a man would shake his father's hand.

Proudly, James shook Harry's hand and walked off to find the boys. He could hear the fading sounds of his mum fussing over Albus and Lily. Billowing smoke came from the Hogwarts Express.

"James! Hey!"

Turning around, James saw his one of his best friends hurrying toward him. Brandon grinned mischievously and James clapped him on the back heartily. "Brandon, how's it going?"

"Awesome. You ready to kill it this year?"

James laughed at Brandon. "I was hoping to not kill anyone this year, actually."

Still laughing at their own genius, the boys boarded the train and trudged along, searching for an empty compartment. They found a compartment in the back of the train. Plopping down on the stained seat, Brandon asked, "Where's Sky?"

"Scaring the first years probably," James said as he rolled his eyes.

"Talk with Valerie this summer?"

"Duh. She was over at the house, like, every day. Mum was giddy about it all."

"She's hot, James, you're a lucky bastard."

"Sure am."

As the train squealed and rattled out of the station, the boys set in with a game of Wizard's Chess. A knock came at the door and Lily stepped through. She sat down beside James and curled her feet under her. "Hi, James."

"What, Lily," asked a bored James.

"I just came to see what you guys were up to."

"Where are your friends?"

"That's none of your business, James!"

"Come on, Lily. You aren't fighting again?"

"Do whatever I want to!" Lily screamed, obviously irritated about something.

James rolled his eyes, wondering when Lily would stop her fighting. She was always into something, pissing people off, and fighting like a Muggle. The girl did have a nice punch though. James looked to his younger sister and said, "Go back and apologize, Lily."

"No."

The two siblings turned to each other, ready to wage a war when the door burst open again. The Potters both turned to scream at the intruder, but stopped dead. A hooded figure was looming at the entrance. Cold fury emanated from the person who spoke, "James and Lily. Please come with me. Now."

With all the courage he could muster, James slid in front of his friend and sister to face this figure, "Who are you?"

"Please come with me."

"Err...no...we're going nowhere with you. Back off!" James yelled as he dug around in his pocket for his wand.

Just as James grasped his wand, a red light flashed from under the person's cloak and James hit the floor, unconscious. Lily ran up and started to pound on the figure, beating him with her hands. She too was stunned into silence.

Bravery and fury consumed Brandon as he pointed his wand in the intruder's face and shrieked, "Fucking leave. NOW!"

"Avada Kedavra!" roared the hooded man.

Eyes still full of fury, Brandon hit the floor with a resounding thud. Levitating Lily and James, the man made his way to last section of the train. He mumbled a spell to reinforce his invisibility. There were no more compartments around and he waited silently for his companions. Footsteps soon followed and two more figures appeared, both levitating their prizes.

The first man who captured Lily and James sneered, "Did you kill the witnesses?"

One of the men cursed and said, "Of course we did. We're not stupid."

The last of the men swept his hood off and commanded, "Let's go. The boss is waiting."

Grabbing onto their captives, the men Apparated.

**September 1, 2021  
Mansion in secluded woods of Cornwall**

"What kind of bloody plan is that?" the man argued.

"It's a bloody elaborate plan, that's what it is," the other sneered and continued, "I've worked for months coming up with this scheme."

The two men stared at each other from across the table. Papers littered the surroundings, looking like snow. The man obviously in charge said to the other, "I've had my men hunt down and capture the best Muggles for this job. They will know how to turn them into our machines. Just you wait, Aeron."

A quiet knock on the door prevented Aeron's retort.

A slender, dark-haired woman emerged into the room and muttered, "The boy you asked for is awake. Should I have him brought in?"

Aeron watched the other man look at his wife calmly. "Yes, dear, that would be excellent. Would you take Aeron here with you so that he can watch the boy?"

"Yes, of course."

Turning his back on his employer, Aeron followed the woman. She led him through passage after passage, the mansion's interior looked exactly the same from one end to the other. Scrambling down a long flight of steps, she took Aeron in the dungeons. There was no stench, unless fear constituted as a smell. Around a corner, the largest cell was illuminated by a gas lamp. The inhabitants were all unconscious except for one who was gagged and bound.

Using brute force, Aeron grabbed the boy roughly and headed back to the office of his boss. The walk was a long one and Aeron became tired and levitated the struggling youth after only a couple of corridors. He entered the office and slung the boy on the floor.

"Remove the gag," his boss said without glancing up.

Aeron did as he was told and backed into a corner to watch to proceedings. The boy wildly searched the room until his eyes landed on the man behind the desk. Huffing, he started to talk, "I don't know who you think you are, but you had better let us go. Like, today."

The man laughed menacingly and replied, "Oh, but why would I do that, James Potter? It would ruin all that I have in-store for you five. I won't go monologuing about my plans, however."

"Well, I've got a great plan for you...fuck off !" James grinned manically.

"Such colorful language and totally unnecessary. Your father would be ashamed," the boss man answered calmly, folding his hands in front of him. He surpressed a giggle as James struggled to find an appropriate come-back. He was quite through with the boy and gestured to Aeron.

"Take him back. And James...welcome to hell."


	2. Chapter 2

**September 1, 2021  
The train to Hogwarts**

Humming quietly, Molly Weasley skipped down the corridor, searching for her cousin. Shouts of laughter and whispers of gossip floated out of the cramped compartments. Already in her robes, Molly padded to a halt by a window. She scanned the stars that peeked out behind rocky, clouded mountains. Molly resumed her search and made her way to the rear of the train. Passing one compartment, Molly noticed that no one sat in the seats. Peering behind her, Molly backed into the empty space. _I hope it's not a bunch of seventh years_, she thought.

The young Weasley took another step and tumbled backward. "Now, what was..." Molly huffed as she stood.

Molly pushed her glasses farther up her nose and gawked at what had tripped her. The second year sighed and dropped to her knees. Fred Weasley, her cousin and best friend, was sprawled on the carpeted floor.

"Freddy! That wasn't funny, you know," Molly lied as she giggled.

Fred's open eyes did not move nor did his eyelids flicker. _Uncle George must have invented some new pill for pranks_, she concluded. Shaking Freddy violently to no avail, Molly whopped him around the head for his silly antics. To Molly's dismay, Fred didn't move. Determined not to panic for no reason, Molly flopped down on the seat, a few dust particles scrambling into the air.

"Freddy, I'm going to sit here until you quit playin' this prank."

The compartment was eerily quiet. Distant voices amplified ten times in the near-empty seating area. Molly didn't dare look at Fred, she knew that it would just frustrate her. Fred Weasley's personality was that of his namesake's, so she had been told numerous times. With dark skin and blue eyes, Freddy was a big prankster. Lost in thoughts of their exciting childhood, the screeching of the train jerked Molly back into reality. _We're here._

Rising, Molly walked over to Fred and kicked him in the shin. "Fred, get up. We're here."

The boy lay silent and Molly felt the panic creep into her skin like a poison. _What if he's...oh, don't be stupid_, Molly, the girl chided herself.

Despite what she had just told herself, Molly knelt down and felt Fred's wrist. Nothing. She didn't know where she had learned to feel for pulses, but the knowledge was there. The girl brushed off her thoughts and pressed two fingers to Fred's neck. Nothing.

"No, no way. Freddy! Stop this prank!"

Wailing pitifully, Molly stumbled into the passageway. Students pushed and shoved at her, cursing her immobility. "PLEASE HELP ME! HE'S DEAD, FREDDY'S DEAD!"

Surely she was overreacting. Freddy's lack of pulse was simply a trick of Uncle George's to make the prank seem real. Maybe her hysterics were a way to rouse Fred out of his stupor so Molly could roundly beat him with the nearest heavy object. Tears streaming, Molly waited for someone to assist them. A few heads turned to glance at the compartment, but they continued to rush past. Her cries mingled with the laughing voices of the other students, sounding like a drunken orchestra. Dominique Weasley, a prefect better than Percy, strolled down the hallway at that moment, patrolling for early mischief makers.

Dominique took one look at Molly and sighed at the second year. "Molly, what are you moaning about now?"

Shaking her head, Molly pointed a trembling finger at the compartment.

Dominique ducked in and looked around. She glanced out the window to see that Molly wasn't being trampled and knelt down to see just what Fred Weasley was up to. A piercing screech filled the train as Dominique burst through the door, heading for the nearest exit.

_Took her long enough._

Mere minutes passed and Dominique pounded towards Molly, the Head Boy and Girl on her heels. A tear flew down her face and into her hair as she ran down the hallway. The three skidded to halt in front of Molly and turned into the seating area.

"Oh...no."

"My..."

"I'm going to get Headmaster Flitwick," the Head Girl said.

"I'm running to alert the other professors," the Head Boy said as his partner rushed out the door.

Dominique watched helplessly as the two sped off, leaving her in the dust. All the students had left the train and were heading for the carriages. The silence stung with the sounds of Molly's sobs. She appeared to be but a small child, lost and alone in the middle of a city. Dominique didn't know how to comfort her cousin. Just as she reached down to pat Molly's head, Hagrid burst through a door down the hall. His bulky form barely squeezed through the entrance.

"I jus' saw Justin and Annie runnin' toward th' school. Hollerin' about dyin'," Hagrid said.

Molly watched through foggy eyes as Dominique moved to face Hagrid, whispering quietly. She didn't understand why they whispered. She's the one who found Freddy! _I know he's dead_!

With the back of her hand, Molly wiped at her tears and continued to observe Hagrid and Dominique. Hagrid just stared open-mouthed at the girl before him. Quite disinterested, Molly barely registered that Hagrid had gently pushed Dominique out of his way and pounded to the cabin. Hagrid's reaction wasn't what she expected, but she didn't care. Wasn't Hagrid supposed to start blubbering? He had always been the over-sensitive type, but again, she didn't care. Freddy was in the forefront of her mind.

"C'mon, Molly," Hagrid said gruffly.

Molly stopped her crying for a moment and stared at the tall beastly man. Why would she want to go with him when Fred clearly needed to be looked after? She could cry later, couldn't she? Now, she should watch Freddy. "No."

The young witch picked herself off the floor and moved around Hagrid to sit beside Fred. Lightly, she patted her best friend's hand and whispered, "You'll be just fine, Freddy. Uncle George and Aunt Angelina should be here soon. Freddy, you're gonna be in so much trouble!"

Dominique watched the exchange quietly and turned a pleading face to Hagrid. The big man knelt down and said, "Molly, we're leavin'."

Hagrid swept the bereft Molly in his arms. She felt small and helpless. _I must say with Fred!_

"No, let me go!" Molly cried.

"Sorry, Molly."

As Hagrid and Molly walked down the corridor, Dominique listened to the heavy footfalls. _Don't dry your tears yet_, Dominique thought.

Dominique turned back to the little Weasley splayed out on the floor. The boy had just turned twelve a few months ago and there he was, deader than a doorknob. The prefect grinned to herself, the phrase amusing her. The situation, however, gave her chills. She couldn't stand there and wait for the headmaster and professors, so she headed towards the front of the train.

The Head Boy had assigned her the duty of checking the train after all the students had departed, but she had been so caught up in the drama of death, she had forgotten. _Well, better late than never._ Pausing at each sitting area, Dominique ran a sweep of the place and continued up the train. At the next compartment, Dominique just kept walking, but stopped and backtracked. Surely that wasn't a trainer sticking out?

Dominique's eyes swallowed her face as she gazed in shock at what lay before her feet. There was no way that this was possible. It was just a trick of the eyes, of course. At her feet, Brandon Kale was frozen in a position against one of the magenta seats. The moisture that sprang to Dominique's eyes told the truth. She didn't have to check for a pulse or listen at his chest for a heartbeat. A fellow seventh year, Brandon Kale, was dead. Dominique's facade slowly started to crumble as she broke down and openly wept. First Freddy, now Brandon. It was all too close to her. She had grown up around the both of them; Freddy was her cousin and Brandon had always been in her classes.

Sniffling like a small child after a tantrum, Dominique wiped her face with her sleeve. She gained control of herself and a thought entered her head,_ If Brandon is here, where is James? And Sky? Those three are together all the time._

Finally the whip cracked and Dominique was off down the corridor, screaming at the top of her lungs. No words, just pure unadulterated screaming. The compartment that Freddy lay in was just a couple doors down. Arguing voices issued through the hallways, filling the eerie silence. Just as she rounded on the door, Dominique yelled at no one in particular, "BRANDON KALE IS DEAD."

Headmaster Flitwick peeped around a tangle of legs and sighed, "So is Valerie Pittman."

**September 2, 2021  
Hogwarts**

The tall figure walked slowly up the stairs. A stocky figure followed, a wand pointed at the tall man's back. Up the two went, winding their way around the stairs. It was a long process; the tall man hesitated several times, earning a jab in the head in each instance. The steps squeaked beneath their trainers.

Emerging at the top, the two gazed out at the large expanse before them. The tower was dark. The trees of the Forbidden Forest shook madly as a gust of wind smacked them soundly. Smells of dying grass permeated the air. Flinching again and again as if he was in the throes of a nightmare, the tallest figure turned around and headed back for the stairs. It was all the other could do to keep the man from racing down the stairs. With a look of pure hatred, the stocky male grabbed the other man by his shirtfront and pushed him away from the entrance to escape. Gesturing with his wand, the stocky man urged the other forward. Crawling nimbly atop the ledge, the tall figure looked down at the ground.

With a wave of the stocky man's wand, Scorpius Malfoy jumped off the tower. As he hit the ground, there came a dull thud, the sound of bones snapping muffled by the hoot of an owl. Laughing, the man peered over the ledge, where Scorpius lay twisted, a dark pool gathering under his wretched, mangled body.


	3. Chapter 3

**September 1, 2021  
Weasleys' Wizarding Weezes **  
George Weasley rummaged through the box, looking for a rather clever Pygmy Puff. His graying hair feel in his eyes and he cursed silently. George was a happy man; his wife and children put that timeless grin on his worn face. That smile waned each time he stepped into Weasleys' Wizarding Weezes. The shop had been his first love, but the many inventions reminded him of Fred. Fred was the other twin now, the dead twin, the long forgotten twin. Each morning, George came in through the front door. There, surrounded by the classics and best products, hangs a life-sized portrait of Fred. Underneath the picture, a small plague says: Fred Weasley. Our beloved prankster.

George's blue eyes had glazed over with his wandering thoughts.. A cough filled the space and George straightened up and turned about to see Mrs. Haggleton.

"Why, I'm sorry, Mrs. Haggleton!"

"It's fine, Mr. Weasley. I came to pick up the order of Witch Products for my daughter."

"I'll be out in a jiffy."

With long, quick strides, George headed into the crowded and overly-cluttered back room. Boxes lined on every wall and stacked near to the ceiling deterred his progress. A table in the very back corner especially for call-in orders lay empty save for one box. It was marked with 'witch products' and 'Haggleton'. Scooping up the box, George hurried back to his customer.

"Mrs. Haggleton, your package."

"Thank you, Mr. Weasley. How much do I owe you?"

"Twenty galleons even."

The squat woman reached into her oversized bag and handed George a pouch. "Thank you, Mr. Weasley."

"No, thank you, Mrs. Haggleton. See you in a few weeks!"

Just as George pushed up his sleeves in preparation to search for the missing Pygmy Puff, a silvery substance floated in front of him, breaking his stride.

"Please report to Hogwarts immediately, Mr. Weasley."

Sighing heavily, the father rolled his eyes and headed off to grab his cloak. _Freddy's gone too far this time and on the first day of school_, George huffed.

"Damn, where's my cloak?" George muttered as he rummaged through the room. "I'll just go without it."

Closing his eyes, the Weasley apparated away to the gates of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. As George appeared before the gates, he looked through the crafted metal bars at his wife talking with an unknown professor.

"Angelina?"

"George. Come on and let's see what our son has managed to destroy this time," Angelina said pointedly. She gave her husband a glaring look and then winked saucily at him. It was instances like these that made George want to give her a good kiss and kick her ass at a game of Quidditch.

The professor who had remained silent waved his wand and the gates squealed madly. George sidled up to Angelina, slipping his hand into hers. They ascended the stairs and entered the front door of Hogwarts. After the Great Battle, George had assumed that he would never step foot into the school again. It held so many good memories and one particularly terrible one. The notion of never seeing Hogwarts had vanished when Freddy Weasley terrorized students and teachers the moment he entered the school. Heading for a vaguely familiar office, George scanned the halls, reliving pranks and adventures of daring do.

"The Chosen One."

"What?"

"Oh, I'm sorry, Mr. Weasley. That is the password for this year. Please, the Headmaster is waiting for you." And with that, the still unnamed professor swept away down a corridor and disappeared.

"Well, Angelina, let's go."

Spiraling up and up, George could feel his stomach lurching. Ideas of the worst kind ran through his mind. _What if Freddy flew off a professor's face? _  
They arrived at the topmost stair and a door swung opn, a sign for them to enter. Whirly things and hissy instruments still adorned the office. Familiar things were a welcoming sight and George breathed a calm breath...until he glimpsed Headmaster Flitwick's face.

"Headmaster Flitwick, where's Fred?"

The small man coughed...and coughed again. George squeezed his wife's hand and proceeded to step forward, towering over Flitwick.

"Mr. And Mrs. Weasley, have a seat, please."

"I have a business to run, Flitwick. What has Freddy managed to flow up this time?" George received an elbow to the ribs.

"O...Okay. Today on the train there were several...incidents. We believe that exactly five students were abducted..."

"Oh, no," Angelina moaned.

"No, no. Fred was not abducted. During these unfortunate events, three students were...umm...you see..."

"Damn it, what?" George growled.

"Well, three students were mur-mur-murdered. One of those students was your son. I am truly sorry for your loss. I will give you two a moment."

George was speechless, utterly speechless. He turned to his wife expecting her to be skeptical. No, her face was right red and she was crying and gasping for breath.

"Oh, no. Hell no. Headmaster, take me to my son. Now."

"Of course, Mr. Weasley."

George yanked Angelina out of her seat. She collapsed on the floor at his feet, sobbing like a child. He couldn't understnad why she was crying. Obviously their son was not dead; it was a cruel, elaborate prank. Exasperated, George scooped Angelina up into his arms and rushed after the tiny Headmaster.

The entire procession was a blur. George didn't register the burning pain I his arms from his wife's weight. He didn't notice his labored breathing. Adrenaline pumped through him; or perhaps he still had it after all these years. Angelina was wrapped around him; her tears had completely soaked his shirtfront. It was warm, but not a comforting warm - it was an alarming sort of warm, a warm meaning danger.

Finally, the hospital wing was in sight. The father rushed ahead of the Headmaster and burst through the doors. At a bed in the rear of the wing, a crowd stood around a bed. George barely heard their quiet sobs. He broke into a run, Angelina still in his arms. The crowd parted for the parents and the twin saw his worst nightmare. There lay his son, arms and legs askew, eyes wide open.

"No."

Gently, the aging man laid his wife in the chair beside the bed.

"No, no. Please, no."

Friends and family members that had surrounded the bed crept away, except for a small, frightened girl. The pair failed to see the girl's presence and she said nothing. Echoes of their footsteps resounded in the wing, amplifying the sickly death.

"My son, my Fred. You look at me, boy. LOOK AT ME!" George was screaming at his perished son.

No answer.

Angelina whispered, "G-George. Let's take him home."

"We're not taking him home," George replied. "He has classes. He won't get off the hook so easily."

"George, Freddy is dead. Dead, he's gone forever."

"D-d-Dad? Daddy?"

Beyond their grieving world, the parents saw their youngest child standing at the bedside. Her complexion was nothing but red, swollen with tears. There, she had been there all along, and they had practically ignored her. George turned to his little girl and said, "Hi, Roxanne."

"Why didn't you say anything to me?"

"Dad...Dad's sorry, baby. I'm trying to deal with your brother."

Roxanne stopped for a moment, her mother's dark eyes boring into George's face. She pursed her lips and hissed, "You don't get it, do you? Freddy is dead. Dad, he's dead. FACE IT!"

Roxanne began to cry anew and raced to a far corner, sobbing.

The Weasley man took another glance at his son and burst into tears. Heart-wrenching tears that flowed down his face in rivers. He dropped to his knees at his wife's lap. This reality was beginning to sink in and he didn't understand, couldn't comprehend the truth. One Fred taken from him, now another? Laying his face in Angelina's lap, George cried. He cried not just for his son, but for his twin. He cried for Angelina and for himself; for his mother and his father; for his siblings and his son's cousins. George Weasley let the tears roll down his face.

Wiping his face, the father stood up and reached for his son. Without a word, he gathered his son in his arms. George walked to where his daughter was curled up, and with Fred still in his arms, knelt down, "Roxanne. Roxanne. Please, Dad is very sorry. Why don't you go get Mum and we'll go home?"

Roxanne looked into his eyes and sighed. A few more gasps later, she rose and ran to her mother. George watched his precious family. They were his one and his only. He would be damned if this would tear them apart. He loved those two women so, so much.

Glancing at Angelina and motioning with his head for her to follow, they walked out of the hospital wing, another deceased Fred in their arms.

**September 1, 2021  
Mansion in the forests of Cornwall**

A ripping sensation ate at his arm. The pure, unadulterated pain was unbearable, yet he had to bear it. Opening his mouth to scream, James Potter found that his mouth was gagged. Eyes closed tight, disorientation consumed the boy. James could have sworn that mere minutes ago he had stood in front of a man who welcomed him to hell. Well, this was worse than hell. This was hell's worst nightmare.

What James did not know was that it was hours after his talk with the boss man. James started to shake violently. His entire body jerked and twitched; he gnawed at the gag, grinding his teeth as hard as he possibly could. At the juncture where his legs connected with his hips, James sensed an immense burning. Thousands of hot pokers stabbed him in this sensitive area. He couldn't pinpoint all the places where he ached, because his body shrieked everywhere. Feet, hands, back, face, it all wailed at him. Silent, but deadly pain. James's body halted its insanity and that's when he began to slowly register his surroundings. Without opening his eyes, the oldest Potter child used his other senses to investigate. _I'm naked._

Naked and on a table of steel, James listened intently. He heard a grinding sound - something hard grinding away at something equally as hard. The sound was disgusting, revolting. _It sounds like the snapping of bones._ Ever so slowly, James opened his eyes. Staring at a typical ceiling, he darted his eyes left, then right. _Fuck_. Instruments, tools, foreign things, familiar things. Those on a table to his left looked like medical instruments from Muggle movies he'd see with his dad. And there, on a long table, were computers on top of computers. Some were ancient and dated, others were new. Wires tangled together and resembled James's mop he called hair. _Have I been taken by Muggles? _  
Next, James tried to sit up. Surprisingly, he could. Cautiously, James observed his prison. He knew that there was someone on the far side of the room by that terrible sound, but they hadn't noticed him. James reached to take off the gag and almost choked when he glimpsed his hands, his arms. They were muscular, bulging with muscle on top of muscle. His hands had to be twice the size of his face.

"F-fuck."

"Doc, doc, he's awake! Hurry, hurry!"

_Shouldn't have said anything, damn._

Several faces appeared in front of him. He was shoved down and before he could fight back, restraints were put on his hands and feet.

"How do you feel?"

"Are you hurting?"

"Can you move your arms and legs?"

Questions bombarded at James, the lot of them taking a hundred miles a minuted. One by one, they shut their mouths and looked at him expectedly.

"What. In. The. Hell. Is. Going. On." James punctuated.

"Get the boss, someone."

A face disappeared and James glared at the "doctors." There was no way this was happening. _It's what Dad would call science fiction. _

"Well, the little child has finally decided to wake up from his nap," Aeron said.

A glare from James, no answer. Aeron peered over the edge of the steel operating table at his captor. His was right in James's face, his warm breath a disgusting smell to behold.

"Oh, in a pissed off mood? Good."

James resisted the urge to spit in Aeron's face and instead spat, "What's going on and why the hell do I look like this?"

"Think we should tell him, docs?"

A hearty laugh from the peanut gallery later and James had no answers. Flexing his new, confusing muscles, James tried tearing at his bonds.

"Now, don't do that buddy. Want some answers? Fine. You see those new arms and legs? Courtesy of the docs here. They're from a nice, strong man. And now, they're yours."

With that, James listened as Aeron walked away, snorting loudly. The boy turned left and right, left and right, searching the faces of the men over him. This was ridiculous and there was no way out.

"We can't wait to start on your sister, brother, and cousins, mate. I bet the girls are pretty, yeah?"

"Stay away from my family!"

The doctors stepped away from James and huddled into a group. Whispered words escaped here and there; however, James couldn't make hide nor hair of them. The group rose up and quit their whispering. Plain as day, James heard one man say, "Wish the boys at home could see me now. I can't believe that after years of wanting to do something cool, I finally do it. Damn, boys, we're awesome as hell. We created something most would only dream of; he's the new Frankenstein."


	4. Chapter 4

**September 2, 2021**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry**

"What's goin' on?"

"Do I _look_ like Dumbledore? How the hell do I know?"

Lysander Scamander scowled at his brother. Polar opposites, the two of them, and only too noticeable. Lysander was the typical good child. Too much like his mother, although he was quick witted and an over exuberant optimist. His rounded eyes were innocent and precise. Lorcan, his other twin, was brash and rude. The boy had a mouth that wouldn't wait.

Lysander sighed and said, "Fine, I'll go ask one of the Weasleys."

"Yeah, you do that. Since they're at home."

"I thought you didn't know anything."

"Up your ass."

In the end, the two fifth years ended up staring at each other from across the Gryffindor Common Room. It was constant battle and secretly, Lysander loved every minute of it. The fighting, the cussing, it was the only way he could communicate with his twin. If they weren't screaming, they weren't talking. Soft, yes he was, Lysander loved his brother and just desired to talk to him. Lysander's thoughts returned to the Weasleys and Potters. Their parents were friends and for Lysander, he enjoyed all of the two families. His family was quiet affair and it was nice to be around a whopping household full of people who _wanted_ to talk to him.

"Bro, hey, dude?"

"What?" Lysander asked.

"Mum sent me a letter last night. She's picking us up for the funeral today at one."

Lysander glanced at a clock and jumped out of his seat. It was ten minutes until one! "It's almost one! Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Lorcan shrugged. "Didn't feel like it."

Lysander uncharacteristically cursed and raced to the stairs. He had to find his dress robes for the funeral. _Poor, poor, Fred._ It was hard to believe that a twelve year old was murdered. A twelve year old that Lysander had grown up with, well, sort of. Lysander slammed through the door into his dormitory. The place was a disaster area; clothes littered every available space and brooms along with the contents of cleaning kits were scattered to the far corners of the room. Hopping over Lorcan's mess, Lysander swept through his trunk. At the very bottom of his trunk among broken quills and dried radishes his mum had hidden, Lysander found his dress robes. With a few sweeps of his hands, he had cleaned them of dust and somewhat unwrinkled them.

Back down the stairs, Lysander plopped on the couch. "What about your dress robes?"

"Mum's bringing them."

The two lapsed back into silence. Lysander saddened at the thought of having to give his condolences to the many Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys. They would all be heartbroken. Lysander knew that he would be devastated if something happened to Lorcan. If Lorcan returned the sentiment, Lysander would never know.

The boy heard the portrait swing open and listened to the sound of stomping feet. In rushed a trembling first year who practically screamed, "Scorpius Malfoy was just found dead at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower!"

Lorcan stood up, then sat back down. A look of pure shock and what appeared to be…sadness…captured his blue eyes. "I'll be damned."

Still standing there, the first year continued, "They think it was…intentional. Like, because Rose Weasley was kidnapped or whatever."

It was Lysander's turn to stand up. He knew there was no way in Merlin's world that Scorpius would do that. And surely not over a Weasley. Mr. Draco Malfoy would bring the boy back to life and curse him to Hell and back. Lysander looked to his brother and for once, Lorcan didn't throw him a dirty hand gesture or say something vulgar.

"I'll be damned," Lorcan repeated.

The Scamander began to pace back and forth, back and forth. Friction was building in the rug at his feet as the wheels in his head were rolling a hundred miles a minute. Minutes passed. The clock chimed the hour. _Mum should be here any minute._

Through the portrait floated Luna Lovegood-Scamander. Today her usually dreamy expression was pierced into a gloomy pout. Without a word to either of her sons, she motioned them to come to her. Lorcan rose from his armchair and rushed to his mother, as did Lysander. The two both enveloped their mum in a warm hug and stayed there, suspended in the moment. If their mum had taught them one thing, it was that family and friends were to be cherished and loved, no matter what.

"I love my twins," Luna whispered to them. "Come on, we've got to get to the funeral."

The threesome proceeded to the Headmaster's office, where Luna had been allowed to Floo in for her boys. Lysander felt his mother hesitate as Lorcan took his Floo Powder and said, "The Burrow!"

"You go ahead, Mum."

Luna flashed Lysander a sad smile. He gazed as his mother disappeared in the green flames. A flicker of unease passed over Lysander and he stopped mid-step. Observing the vast office, Lysander had a feeling that Hogwarts was soon going to be a memory of the happy past. Shaking his head, Lysander grabbed his bit of Powder and yelled, "The Burrow!"

**January 2, 2021**

**Atlanta Medical Center – Atlanta, Georgia, United States of America**

Joseph Anderson wiped his brow on his shirtsleeve and sighed. It had been a long double shift and accidents from New Years were still pouring in. Being one of the best surgeons in the South had its disadvantages. The hospital had been in total chaos since yesterday evening at nine p.m. Party goers had been heartily eager to start the festivities early; it had earned several of them cases of alcohol poisoning, along with a few shattered faces.

Anderson peered out through the window of his office down upon the entrance to the emergency room. _Damn, here comes another car accident._ The doctor rushed out his door and down the stairs, skipping every other step. Running in and out of the swarm of people, Joseph arrived at the side of the patient that had just arrived.

"Details."

"He was drunk and ended up pulling out into the highway in front of a pile of teenagers. He's coded once already. Teenagers are on their way."

Joseph glanced at the man for a moment before he began to work. The man was bleeding from multiple wounds on his chest. His neck had a gaping hole in the side of it and there wasn't a face on the man's head. They had to staunch the bleeding before he could repair any damage.

"Staunch that bleeding. We've got to repair those arteries."

Anderson worked diligently, staunching the bleeding. Just as he was preparing to head off to the operating room, a voice called his name, "Doctor Anderson! We need you immediately!"

"I have a patient, Michels!"

"Another can take care of him! We need YOU!"

Anderson searched the room and spotted an idle Chris Tomley.

"Tomley, take my patient, please!"

"On it!"

Joseph Anderson waved his thanks and rushed to Michels, who was working over a girl. Yet again, Anderson asked for details.

"She was hit by the drunk driver who arrived a second ago. She was the driver. Oh God, she's going to code…again."

The doctor reached Michels's side and gasped. He had seen some nasty things, some horrible, gruesome things. This, however, this was a first. On the table lay a teenage girl, overweight, with a chunk of metal through her abdomen that was bent; the other end of the metal had almost completely severed both her legs mid-thigh. Anderson couldn't tell if it was a bumper or part of the truck. It might have even been the steering column, but there was too much blood to distinguish. _Holy shit._

"We have got to staunch this bleeding. Grab a few bags of O – go Michels!"

The nurse ran off at breakneck speed and Joseph turned back to his patient. Unintentionally, he glanced at her face. Her blue eyes were wide and tears rolled down into her hair.

"Help…me."

"That's what I'm going to do."

Joseph began to work alongside the nurses who were desperately working to the best of their abilities. From what he could see, Joseph saw that the metal had entered just below her lungs. Bits and pieces of her stomach contents and organs were oozing their way out of the wound.

"We're going to need an O.R. NOW!"

Michels had returned with the bags of O, but stopped at Anderson's hand. "We're going to need that in the O.R."

The skilled doctor turned back to the rest of his assistants and said, "Let's go. There's a life to save."

Joseph Anderson emerged out of the operating room and grudgingly made his way to the waiting room. This was the worst part of his job – the family. Some families cried in their happiness or sadness, others shook their heads and demanded to see their loved one. Every once in a while, he encountered family who grew pissed at him and threatened him physically. The reactions spanned from one end of the spectrum to the other. Often times, Joseph wondered what he would do if he was in that position. He had a lovely wife and two gorgeous children – aside from his life-saving work, they were his everything.

"Family of Marla Jennings?"

"Yes, yes, that's us." Fifteen people rose from their seats and bombarded the doctor. He didn't know who to look to, there were so many. _Wow, she's a loved girl._

"The parents of Marla?"

"That would be us."

"Would you step aside with me?"

The mother's eyes looked exactly like her daughter's and Joseph shuttered. The father was a tall, burly man. The two of them obviously were having a hell of a time.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. and Mrs. Jennings. Marla was in a serious accident and it's lucky she's alive. I've done all that I could; stitched up as much as could. I'm sorry to inform you, but if she ever walks without assistance, it will be a miracle. I have conferred with other doctors and we believe with extensive therapy your daughter will able to walk with assistance of some form."

Joseph touched both parents on the shoulders and hurried away. As he scurried to his office, he heard screams and piteous crying. Whether it was in anguish or happiness, he did not know. At that moment, Joseph decided he would clock out and go home to his wife and children. He needed to give them a hug and know they were safe in his hands, away from the rest of the world.

*

Joseph drove his Ford Flex into the drive and stopped. The house was quaint, just what his wife had wanted. Deana received everything she wanted, to her delight, and his wallet's dismay. Joseph glanced at his watch; it was seven thirty in the morning. Deana was up and ready by now, preparing the children for school.

Sorting through his keys, the father and doctor opened the door and called to his family, "I'm home."

No one answered.

"Deana? Johana? Danny?"

And still, no answer.

Joseph peeped into the living room and kitchen, spying none of his family. Tromping up the staircase, the man headed for the master bedroom.

"Deana?"

There on the bed sat Deana and his son and daughter. Deana and Johana were crying and Danny was tense. Deana shook her head frantically at Joseph and mouthed, 'No.'

"What's going on?" Joseph asked as he entered the bedroom. He couldn't understand their behavior. It was the weirdest thing he had ever experienced. Interrupting his thoughts, the door slammed behind him. Whipping around, Joseph was face to face with another man.

Speechless, Joseph didn't register that the man had raised a piece of wood at his face and was brandishing it wildly.

"What do you want?"

The intruder smiled, "You."

"Okay, but let my family go."

"'Fraid I can't do that."

The two men had a staring contest. Joseph was sizing him up, preparing to beat the absolute hell outta the trash in his house. _Bunch o' white trash. _The man was continuing to wave that stick in Joseph's face.

"Get that…stick…away from me."

"Better get used to it, buddy. You'll be seeing them all the time where we're goin'."

Reverting back to his Southern roots, Joseph hissed, "I ain't goin' nowhere with white trash."

Without warning, the man whispered something and a red light flashed from the stick. Joseph watched in slow motion as it hit Johana and she howled in pain. She writhed and squirmed, curling into a ball. Deana was patting and rubbing her, crying.

Joseph almost growled, "You better get away from my family now. Damn it to hell, get outta my house!"

Enraged, he lunged at the man and the two fell to the floor. Joseph punched the man in the face several times before he was blasted off with that…stick. Scrambling to his feet, Joseph tried for the man again. The intruder flashed him a nasty smile and a streak of green light hit Johana square in the face. Deana screeched and reached for Johana; the mother rocked her back and forth. Johana's eyes were wide open and Joseph watched as her chest failed to rise and fall. _Johana's dead. _There were those things that you just knew and Joseph knew his daughter was gone.

"Goddamn you, you bastard! I'm gonna beat the fuck outta you!"

Joseph started menacingly toward the murderer and once again, Joseph observed a flash of green light travel toward his family. This time the death kill hit Deana.

"NO! NO!"

Joseph crumpled to the floor and watched his son fall on top of his mother and cry. The boy, who had been silent up until now, gushed his anguish.

"Shut up, boy." It was all Joseph could do from losing his sanity as the green light hit Danny too.

"Please. I'll do anything, whatever you want."

The intruder gave Joseph a piercing look and said, "The boss is waiting for you."


	5. Chapter 5

**September 2, 2021**

**Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry**

"What's goin' on?"

"Do I _look_ like Dumbledore? How the hell do I know?"

Lysander Scamander scowled at his brother. Polar opposites, the two of them, and only too noticeable. Lysander was the typical good child. Too much like his mother, although he was quick witted and an over exuberant optimist. His rounded eyes were innocent and precise. Lorcan, his other twin, was brash and rude. The boy had a mouth that wouldn't wait.

Lysander sighed and said, "Fine, I'll go ask one of the Weasleys."

"Yeah, you do that. Since they're at home."

"I thought you didn't know anything."

"Up your ass."

In the end, the two fifth years ended up staring at each other from across the Gryffindor Common Room. It was constant battle and secretly, Lysander loved every minute of it. The fighting, the cussing, it was the only way he could communicate with his twin. If they weren't screaming, they weren't talking. Soft, yes he was, Lysander loved his brother and just desired to talk to him. Lysander's thoughts returned to the Weasleys and Potters. Their parents were friends and for Lysander, he enjoyed all of the two families. His family was quiet affair and it was nice to be around a whopping household full of people who _wanted_ to talk to him.

"Bro, hey, dude?"

"What?" Lysander asked.

"Mum sent me a letter last night. She's picking us up for the funeral today at one."

Lysander glanced at a clock and jumped out of his seat. It was ten minutes until one! "It's almost one! Why didn't you tell me sooner?"

Lorcan shrugged. "Didn't feel like it."

Lysander uncharacteristically cursed and raced to the stairs. He had to find his dress robes for the funeral. _Poor, poor, Fred._ It was hard to believe that a twelve year old was murdered. A twelve year old that Lysander had grown up with, well, sort of. Lysander slammed through the door into his dormitory. The place was a disaster area; clothes littered every available space and brooms along with the contents of cleaning kits were scattered to the far corners of the room. Hopping over Lorcan's mess, Lysander swept through his trunk. At the very bottom of his trunk among broken quills and dried radishes his mum had hidden, Lysander found his dress robes. With a few sweeps of his hands, he had cleaned them of dust and somewhat unwrinkled them.

Back down the stairs, Lysander plopped on the couch. "What about your dress robes?"

"Mum's bringing them."

The two lapsed back into silence. Lysander saddened at the thought of having to give his condolences to the many Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys. They would all be heartbroken. Lysander knew that he would be devastated if something happened to Lorcan. If Lorcan returned the sentiment, Lysander would never know.

The boy heard the portrait swing open and listened to the sound of stomping feet. In rushed a trembling first year who practically screamed, "Scorpius Malfoy was just found dead at the bottom of the Astronomy Tower!"

Lorcan stood up, then sat back down. A look of pure shock and what appeared to be…sadness…captured his blue eyes. "I'll be damned."

Still standing there, the first year continued, "They think it was…intentional. Like, because Rose Weasley was kidnapped or whatever."

It was Lysander's turn to stand up. He knew there was no way in Merlin's world that Scorpius would do that. And surely not over a Weasley. Mr. Draco Malfoy would bring the boy back to life and curse him to Hell and back. Lysander looked to his brother and for once, Lorcan didn't throw him a dirty hand gesture or say something vulgar.

"I'll be damned," Lorcan repeated.

The Scamander began to pace back and forth, back and forth. Friction was building in the rug at his feet as the wheels in his head were rolling a hundred miles a minute. Minutes passed. The clock chimed the hour. _Mum should be here any minute._

Through the portrait floated Luna Lovegood-Scamander. Today her usually dreamy expression was pierced into a gloomy pout. Without a word to either of her sons, she motioned them to come to her. Lorcan rose from his armchair and rushed to his mother, as did Lysander. The two both enveloped their mum in a warm hug and stayed there, suspended in the moment. If their mum had taught them one thing, it was that family and friends were to be cherished and loved, no matter what.

"I love my twins," Luna whispered to them. "Come on, we've got to get to the funeral."

The threesome proceeded to the Headmaster's office, where Luna had been allowed to Floo in for her boys. Lysander felt his mother hesitate as Lorcan took his Floo Powder and said, "The Burrow!"

"You go ahead, Mum."

Luna flashed Lysander a sad smile. He gazed as his mother disappeared in the green flames. A flicker of unease passed over Lysander and he stopped mid-step. Observing the vast office, Lysander had a feeling that Hogwarts was soon going to be a memory of the happy past. Shaking his head, Lysander grabbed his bit of Powder and yelled, "The Burrow!"

**January 2, 2021**

**Atlanta Medical Center – Atlanta, Georgia, United States of America**

Joseph Anderson wiped his brow on his shirtsleeve and sighed. It had been a long double shift and accidents from New Years were still pouring in. Being one of the best surgeons in the South had its disadvantages. The hospital had been in total chaos since yesterday evening at nine p.m. Party goers had been heartily eager to start the festivities early; it had earned several of them cases of alcohol poisoning, along with a few shattered faces.

Anderson peered out through the window of his office down upon the entrance to the emergency room. _Damn, here comes another car accident._ The doctor rushed out his door and down the stairs, skipping every other step. Running in and out of the swarm of people, Joseph arrived at the side of the patient that had just arrived.

"Details."

"He was drunk and ended up pulling out into the highway in front of a pile of teenagers. He's coded once already. Teenagers are on their way."

Joseph glanced at the man for a moment before he began to work. The man was bleeding from multiple wounds on his chest. His neck had a gaping hole in the side of it and there wasn't a face on the man's head. They had to staunch the bleeding before he could repair any damage.

"Staunch that bleeding. We've got to repair those arteries."

Anderson worked diligently, staunching the bleeding. Just as he was preparing to head off to the operating room, a voice called his name, "Doctor Anderson! We need you immediately!"

"I have a patient, Michels!"

"Another can take care of him! We need YOU!"

Anderson searched the room and spotted an idle Chris Tomley.

"Tomley, take my patient, please!"

"On it!"

Joseph Anderson waved his thanks and rushed to Michels, who was working over a girl. Yet again, Anderson asked for details.

"She was hit by the drunk driver who arrived a second ago. She was the driver. Oh God, she's going to code…again."

The doctor reached Michels's side and gasped. He had seen some nasty things, some horrible, gruesome things. This, however, this was a first. On the table lay a teenage girl, overweight, with a chunk of metal through her abdomen that was bent; the other end of the metal had almost completely severed both her legs mid-thigh. Anderson couldn't tell if it was a bumper or part of the truck. It might have even been the steering column, but there was too much blood to distinguish. _Holy shit._

"We have got to staunch this bleeding. Grab a few bags of O – go Michels!"

The nurse ran off at breakneck speed and Joseph turned back to his patient. Unintentionally, he glanced at her face. Her blue eyes were wide and tears rolled down into her hair.

"Help…me."

"That's what I'm going to do."

Joseph began to work alongside the nurses who were desperately working to the best of their abilities. From what he could see, Joseph saw that the metal had entered just below her lungs. Bits and pieces of her stomach contents and organs were oozing their way out of the wound.

"We're going to need an O.R. NOW!"

Michels had returned with the bags of O, but stopped at Anderson's hand. "We're going to need that in the O.R."

The skilled doctor turned back to the rest of his assistants and said, "Let's go. There's a life to save."

Joseph Anderson emerged out of the operating room and grudgingly made his way to the waiting room. This was the worst part of his job – the family. Some families cried in their happiness or sadness, others shook their heads and demanded to see their loved one. Every once in a while, he encountered family who grew pissed at him and threatened him physically. The reactions spanned from one end of the spectrum to the other. Often times, Joseph wondered what he would do if he was in that position. He had a lovely wife and two gorgeous children – aside from his life-saving work, they were his everything.

"Family of Marla Jennings?"

"Yes, yes, that's us." Fifteen people rose from their seats and bombarded the doctor. He didn't know who to look to, there were so many. _Wow, she's a loved girl._

"The parents of Marla?"

"That would be us."

"Would you step aside with me?"

The mother's eyes looked exactly like her daughter's and Joseph shuttered. The father was a tall, burly man. The two of them obviously were having a hell of a time.

"I'm going to be honest with you, Mr. and Mrs. Jennings. Marla was in a serious accident and it's lucky she's alive. I've done all that I could; stitched up as much as could. I'm sorry to inform you, but if she ever walks without assistance, it will be a miracle. I have conferred with other doctors and we believe with extensive therapy your daughter will able to walk with assistance of some form."

Joseph touched both parents on the shoulders and hurried away. As he scurried to his office, he heard screams and piteous crying. Whether it was in anguish or happiness, he did not know. At that moment, Joseph decided he would clock out and go home to his wife and children. He needed to give them a hug and know they were safe in his hands, away from the rest of the world.

*

Joseph drove his Ford Flex into the drive and stopped. The house was quaint, just what his wife had wanted. Deana received everything she wanted, to her delight, and his wallet's dismay. Joseph glanced at his watch; it was seven thirty in the morning. Deana was up and ready by now, preparing the children for school.

Sorting through his keys, the father and doctor opened the door and called to his family, "I'm home."

No one answered.

"Deana? Johana? Danny?"

And still, no answer.

Joseph peeped into the living room and kitchen, spying none of his family. Tromping up the staircase, the man headed for the master bedroom.

"Deana?"

There on the bed sat Deana and his son and daughter. Deana and Johana were crying and Danny was tense. Deana shook her head frantically at Joseph and mouthed, 'No.'

"What's going on?" Joseph asked as he entered the bedroom. He couldn't understand their behavior. It was the weirdest thing he had ever experienced. Interrupting his thoughts, the door slammed behind him. Whipping around, Joseph was face to face with another man.

Speechless, Joseph didn't register that the man had raised a piece of wood at his face and was brandishing it wildly.

"What do you want?"

The intruder smiled, "You."

"Okay, but let my family go."

"'Fraid I can't do that."

The two men had a staring contest. Joseph was sizing him up, preparing to beat the absolute hell outta the trash in his house. _Bunch o' white trash. _The man was continuing to wave that stick in Joseph's face.

"Get that…stick…away from me."

"Better get used to it, buddy. You'll be seeing them all the time where we're goin'."

Reverting back to his Southern roots, Joseph hissed, "I ain't goin' nowhere with white trash."

Without warning, the man whispered something and a red light flashed from the stick. Joseph watched in slow motion as it hit Johana and she howled in pain. She writhed and squirmed, curling into a ball. Deana was patting and rubbing her, crying.

Joseph almost growled, "You better get away from my family now. Damn it to hell, get outta my house!"

Enraged, he lunged at the man and the two fell to the floor. Joseph punched the man in the face several times before he was blasted off with that…stick. Scrambling to his feet, Joseph tried for the man again. The intruder flashed him a nasty smile and a streak of green light hit Johana square in the face. Deana screeched and reached for Johana; the mother rocked her back and forth. Johana's eyes were wide open and Joseph watched as her chest failed to rise and fall. _Johana's dead. _There were those things that you just knew and Joseph knew his daughter was gone.

"Goddamn you, you bastard! I'm gonna beat the fuck outta you!"

Joseph started menacingly toward the murderer and once again, Joseph observed a flash of green light travel toward his family. This time the death kill hit Deana.

"NO! NO!"

Joseph crumpled to the floor and watched his son fall on top of his mother and cry. The boy, who had been silent up until now, gushed his anguish.

"Shut up, boy." It was all Joseph could do from losing his sanity as the green light hit Danny too.

"Please. I'll do anything, whatever you want."

The intruder gave Joseph a piercing look and said, "The boss is waiting for you."


End file.
